Please
by GamingMama6
Summary: (Story 5 in my timeline.) A story where Yennefer, Geralt, and Ciri face a devastating life event. Can act as a standalone story (context provided in prologue). Warning: Not fluff!
1. Prologue

_**Author's Notes:**_

 ** _Disclaimers:_** _This story contains both references to and spoilers of the books and the games. Nothing belongs to me aside from this storyline._

 _This fic is also based on the events of my other stories, but can act as a standalone. (If you would like some context, please refer to the next section.)_

 _Lastly, if you're familiar with my stories, please know that this fic deals with themes that are heavier than what I usually write. Fluff this is not! =)_

 ** _Context:_** _From the events of my other stories, the ones that make an impact in this fic are: Yennefer and Geralt are newly married ("Paradise"); Yennefer and Triss have rebuilt their friendship ("Reinvent"); and Triss and Eskel are together and live at Aretuza, where Triss has finally decided to become a teacher (bonus point to anyone who can spot the book reference!) along with the rest of the Lodge members ("Reinvent")._

 _And finally, the most important author's note..._

 ** _Credits:_** _This fic would not have been possible if not for the help and guidance of a few very special people. Thank you to DaisyofGalaxy, who acted as my scientific consultant and helped me strike a balance between reality and fantasy. And a massive thank you to_ _Eileniessa and WeirdosOfTheWorld for being my outstanding betas. You approached this fic from completely different perspectives to help me shape it into something coherent, and you both spent inordinate amounts of time helping a perfect stranger with her project. You're awesome. That is all._

 _Now, the story..._

* * *

 **Please - Prologue**

For as long as she could remember, baths had always been a haven for Yennefer. She relished every opportunity she had to bask in the sanctuary of lukewarm waters scented with her signature fragrance. Baths were a time when she had the freedom to choose between immersing herself in all of her thoughts or none at all. They were a tangible way to show the world that she would get to it when she wished – that no matter how pressing its needs were, hers would be taken care of first. As a deformed child fearing the abuses of her father's knuckle and her mother's neglect, she would covet the privilege of a bath to shut out the hurt while she washed away the dried blood and uninvited tears. And after suffering defeat in Castle Stygga, when she had thought that her end would take place with her lover in the luscious sensuality of bathwater and orgasms, she had morbidly rejoiced at the luxury of such a hedonic way to pass.

She lifted her hand and watched the warm trickles of her indulgence flow between her fingers. Her own fragrance filled her senses. She felt a burning sensation lighting her lower regions despite the cooling water and briefly wondered if her husband was in the vicinity; his nearness always brought out the most visceral, most carnal reactions of her desire, even when it was inconvenient – which, she reveled, it rarely was anymore.

She waited a few minutes for Geralt to enter their bathhouse, to offer an awkward but endearing line meant to arouse her sexuality when, in reality, the mere thought of him was often enough to bring her to heat. It was with disappointment and mild bemusement that she noted he was not going appear, when she could sense no trace of him.

She ended her bath with a slightly frustrated flourish of her hand, banishing the used water to nonexistence. She wrapped herself in her bathrobe without drying off first and decided that if he was not going to come satisfy the growing ache in her navel, she would take it upon herself to seek him out. She was not one to play games when it came to matters of pleasure; if she wanted it, she would take it. And she knew he adored that about her.

With wet footsteps and nothing but a loose garment separating the air from her tingling skin, she padded to where she heard her husband clanking about, rearranging his displays of armor and swords as if doing so would make him appear less retired. A corner of her lips curved, and she felt feverish with passion. When he turned to face her, the reaction in his darkening eyes told her that the expression she wore was one of pure seduction. With a thud, he dropped the two shields he had been pondering and advanced on her, his breathing already heavy with lust. Their lips crushed without having uttered a single word – without having needed to. She allowed him to guide them into their bedroom, ready to accept him into her in the hopes of placating the throbbing in her loins, whose intensity was surprising even to her.


	2. Chapter 1

Geralt rolled onto his back, breathless and euphorically satiated. Words could not describe how he felt each time he made love to his wife. It didn't matter that if one were to undertake the tedious task of tallying every single occurrence of Geralt and Yennefer's intimacy, one would find oneself quickly counting to the thousands and beyond. The sensations of being with her, moving inside her, feeling her body tighten around him and spasm with screams of desire – those sensations would never, ever dull. Not after the thirty-plus years that they had been together, and not after any multiples of thirty-plus more. He loved his wife with the entirety of his being, and the privilege of being able to show that love through such raw, primal, scintillating means would forever be his single-most favorite activity in life.

Yennefer let out a moan of satisfaction – possibly the effect of an aftershock of pleasure. He turned his head to look at her, to drink in her beauty. Her damp raven curls were splayed wildly around them both, her arms still tense above her head, barely having released the bedpost she had clung to during the highest throes of climax. Her breasts heaved as she struggled to reclaim her breath, ragged and hoarse from the intensity of their bodies intertwined so deeply and thoroughly. He sought her eyes – eyes that were the keys to his soul. They hid under long, dark lashes that glistened with sweat.

"My heavens," was all she said. He smiled and inwardly patted himself on the back.

"Mhm," he agreed.

Yennefer, after a long exercise of self-calming breaths, opened her eyes to look at him. It was as if she was trying to take him in, to tell him wordlessly how profound her pleasure and happiness were. Their gazes locked, silently communicating in a manner reserved solely for those who were as deeply and wholly connected as they were. They stayed like that for maybe minutes, maybe hours, half drunk on the hypnotic knowledge that they were two of the most fortunate few whose fantasy was very much the same as their reality.

Then it happened.

Her violet eyes sharpened infinitesimally, the dark pupils dilating in a barely noticeable pulse. It was only for the briefest of moments, as she quickly shut her eyelids and reopened them in a mask of composure. But he had seen it.

"Yen?"

"What?" Her tone was always a hair more edged when trying to hide what she knew would be worrisome.

"You okay?" He didn't bother to mask his concern.

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?" She closed her eyes again and rolled away from him, but he caught the slightest twitch in her lower back, as though she was clenching her muscles in pain.

"Yen…" Something was not right.

"Geralt, go to sleep. Everything's fine." Her words of placation could not disguise the strain in her voice. Geralt was about to protest, to physically pry her to face him if he had to, but before he could, he heard a gasp of pain escape her lips. It was barely audible, but it chilled him to his core.

And it did not prepare him for what happened next.

Geralt watched helplessly as Yennefer gave into the overpowering demands of her body, curling herself into a ball, her eyes wide and staring but unseeing in the blinding agony. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, as if even the act of gasping for air would be too costly.

Panic ran cold through his veins.

"Yen!"


	3. Chapter 2

His world was spinning.

He could not formulate a single thought, could not identify a single emotion beyond the icy grip of pitch-black dread as he waited outside of their bedroom. His ears strained to listen for any signs that his wife had regained consciousness, but there were none.

When he saw the door open and a woman carrying out bloodied sheets – sheets whose embroidered patterns were nearly as familiar to him as the lines on his wife's palms – he felt his throat close and his lungs fill with hot lead. Many things attempted to fly through his head that started with the word 'If', but none was able to develop any further. Whether he did not allow himself to think or he simply was unable to think, he did not know. His mind only remained blank as his body struggled for air.

He was vaguely aware of a man, someone with a familiar voice, pressing him into a cool, hard chair and throwing a garment onto his bare lap. The voice may have said the word 'indecent', but even if it had, Geralt did not pay it any heed.

In his mind's eye, there was only one image, one sound: That of his love, his heart, his life – that of the strongest and most rebelliously stoic woman he knew – clutching to him as her body shook like a leaf, screams of pain ripping from her throat before she fell limp in his arms.

"Yen…" He may have said it out loud. The house was silent otherwise.


	4. Chapter 3

The sound of approaching footsteps woke him. He must have dozed off. For a wild moment, he thought that maybe it had all just been a nightmare. But as he opened his eyes to see the boots of a physician before him, his heart dropped back to the acid of his stomach.

"Sir?" The physician prodded, making sure his audience was awake.

"Is she okay?" He had never simultaneously craved and feared the answer to a question so much in his life.

"She is stable and awake now. The episode of pain is over, but I gave her some potions to make her more comfortable anyway."

"Alright." He was unsure how to take in this information.

"However, I am afraid I do have some bad news."

He felt his throat constrict again, but he forced himself to calm down. For her. "What is it?"

"Your wife, sir, displays symptoms of something I have known to be unique to the female mage population. As you know, when these women first begin to draw their powers, their reproductive organs suffer significant damage. The intense surges of magic devastate the functioning of the cells in those organs, and the cells atrophy and die within the body. Most often, this process causes no physical harm beyond a few experiences of pain in the initial stages, but in some women, the cells do not die off completely. A few cells lay damaged but alive, sometimes for decades or even centuries, seeking an opportunity to regenerate. Such opportunities present themselves in the form of mutations that can trigger surrounding healthy tissue to undergo the same mutations. If left untreated, the chain of mutations can spread through the body into vital organs, and in those cases, death is but a certainty."

It was all Geralt could do to stay conscious. This was a cruel joke.

"So… Yen… How…" He did not know how to ask.

"How much of the mutation is underway?" The physician finished for him kindly. "I do not know, sir. If this was indeed the first onset of her symptoms, then I am somewhat optimistic that we have caught it early."

"And that means…"

"That we are likely not facing an irreparable situation. Please bear in mind, though, that symptoms can often be deceiving; whether this is the first occurrence or the tenth, we cannot truly know the extent of the spread without surgery."

"Then do it! The surgery. Help her!"

"That is the plan, though it is not so simple. To fully ensure that all of the offending cells are eliminated, the entire reproductive organ must be removed, along with any other tissue that is visibly affected. It is a delicate, complicated process, and the success rate is admittedly not encouraging. Blood loss can be quite significant. On average, only two in five women survive the surgery itself, and of those, some still go on to pass due to the extreme shock to the system. That is to make no mention of the extent of the spread."

"So what are you saying?" He felt dizzy.

"I am saying that we need to perform the procedure promptly, but you must also be aware that the factors involved in your wife's condition play negatively against her chances of survival. Though surgery can prove to be a complete cure, there also exists the possibility that the ultimate outcome is loss of life."

Geralt balled and unballed his fists repeatedly. He had no idea why, but it was the only thing he found he was able to do.

"I must gather the proper supplies and acquire the right assistance. It should take no longer than a week. When I am ready, I will call on you. You can bring her to my establishment in Beauclair. I understand that some patients prefer the comfort of their own homes, but due to fear of bacterial contamination during such a sensitive surgical procedure, I do not grant such requests."

"Right."

"In the meantime, please help her stay rested and nourished. She will need to conserve all the energy she can if her body is to survive this procedure."

"Yeah."


	5. Chapter 4

When he entered the room, she was sitting on the far edge of the bed, wearing her nightdress, her back to him. He did not need to see her face to know how twisted with anger it was.

He approached her slowly and sat down beside her. His arms longed to hold her, to feel her, alive and whole, but he knew where her mind was at, knew that she needed her space to vent and to hate freely first.

"It is a cruel joke," she said after a long silence, echoing his own sentiments. "It is a cruel fucking joke."

He said nothing, letting her talk.

"This… this fucking… _thing_ that's supposed to be the bearer of life, the creator and producer of progeny, has been death inside me all along. The irony, it's fucking funny if you think about it. Sick, twisted, and fucking funny." He saw her swipe furiously at a tear.

"Yen," he felt her growing too dark, "we're going to fix it. The physician, he said-"

"I know what he said, Geralt. I was told the same thing. That in the course of removing this harbinger of death from inside me, I would likely bleed out and die. Isn't that fucking funny? That I will probably die from trying not to be killed by the very thing that was meant to give life? Isn't that fucking _hilarious_?"

He brought her into his arms now. She needed it now. He rocked her, rubbed circles on her back. It was all he could do to keep himself from breaking when he felt her body, for the first time in the three-plus decades that he had known her, wrack with bitter sobs against his chest. He understood that it wasn't because she was afraid of death, but that she, like him, felt crushed and cheated by fate. How long had they fought, toiled, and bled for to achieve this fate – to finally be married, to finally arrive at their destiny – only to be robbed of it after a few short months?

But unlike her, he refused to focus on that. There was a chance that she would be okay again, and he would do everything within his power to make her so.

Because there was no life if there was no Yennefer.

It took her some time to calm. He kept hold of her all the while. If he could, he would simply never let her go. But he needed to hear something first.

"We're going to fight this, Yen."

She said nothing, only sniffled while clenching her fists in her lap.

"We've fought everything that's ever gotten in our way. This is no different. We'll face it together, and we'll defeat it like we always do."

"Geralt…"

"Just promise me you'll fight it with me." He needed to hear her say it, needed to keep her with him. "Promise me, Yen, because I can't do this without you. I can't… I can't without you."

"Geralt…"

"Please."

"…I promise."


	6. Chapter 5

When Ciri arrived home, Geralt felt as if he was reliving a nightmare. Yennefer had taught him how to set up her megascope for him to reach their daughter, but Geralt hadn't known what to say, so he had only told her to come back because she was needed urgently. Something about his voice, or maybe it was that he was using Yennefer's megascope without her, must have scared Ciri, as she was in the sitting room within the blink of an eye.

He told her everything, from the onset of the pain to the impending procedure to the doctor's cautions. Watching her emotions play out was like looking in a mirror. Geralt saw everything he felt reflected in Ciri's eyes as he recounted words he did not want to believe he was saying.

He had barely finished talking when Ciri rushed into the bedroom to see her mother, and they stayed inside for many hours. Through the door, Geralt could hear Ciri's sobs and Yennefer's soft reprimands.

He was angry at Ciri's sadness. Geralt wanted to fight. It was what he did best and what he had taught Ciri to do best, and even though there was no physical enemy, it did not deter him in the slightest. He had spent his entire life drawing blood from those threatening to harm him and his companions. He would now simply need to do the opposite; he would now need to find a way to stop the loss of blood from killing his wife.

When he heard the voices in the bedroom go quiet, he dared to enter. Mother and daughter were asleep on the bed, Yennefer cradling Ciri's head like she was a small child.

Geralt shook Ciri by the ankle. She woke instantly, ever the alert Witcheress.

"No more crying. I need your help."


	7. Chapter 6

She teleported him to Triss's house and immediately teleported home, unwilling to leave her mother for even a minute. Geralt found Triss alone in her sitting room, poring over long pieces of parchment labeled 'lessons'.

Triss startled, pulling her house cloak closed over her nightdress. "Geralt?"

"Yen needs you, Triss." He did not want to waste precious time.

"What do you mean? Is she okay?"

Explaining Yennefer's situation the second time was surprisingly easier. Or maybe it was easier because he actually had a plan of attack. Eskel had come down while he was speaking, having overheard every word.

"Of course we'll help, brother," Eskel assured, even though his help had not been sought. Triss, however, looked apprehensive. Eskel turned to her. "Right, babe?"

"Geralt, I would do anything for her. You know that."

"Don't say 'but'." He felt rage starting to rise in his throat; his wife's life was in Triss's hands, and he would not allow her to shirk this responsibility. "Triss, don't you fucking dare say 'but'."

"Watch it, Wolf," Eskel warned.

"No, it's okay, Eskel," Triss called him off. "Geralt, I _will_ do everything I can. But the thing is, I'm not a healer. I know basic healing spells, and I even know of a blood staunching one, but what you're describing – it sounds like it would require much more sophisticated healing magic than what I am capable of."

"What do you mean? You just said you know how to staunch blood. That's what we need."

"That's just a basic spell that temporarily stops the flow of blood until proper medical help can be provided, but it's crude – really crude. That kind of extended blockage can cause fatal damage to her kidneys; it's been known to happen on battlefields, where a prolonged blood staunching spell has led to the death of those who may have otherwise had a chance. We can't take that risk. What Yenna needs is someone who knows how to manipulate the flow of blood between vessels to stem the bleeding without causing any harm. That's high magic – really advanced stuff."

"Are you telling me that you and your Lodge and your Aretuza – this who's who of sorcery – that none of you has these abilities?" This couldn't possibly be. That many Sorceresses and nobody knew how to do this shit? Nobody knew how to save his wife?

"The Sorceresses of the Lodge are more specialists of combat and espionage, and the healing program at Aretuza is admittedly our weakest considering there is a dearth of mages with expertise in healing to begin with – and those hold such precious knowledge are often unwilling to abandon their posts and their patients to become teachers."

"What about those mages who healed you after Sodden?" He knew he was grasping now, trying desperately to keep his dread from overpowering his resolve. "Who restored Yen's eyesight and cured you of your condition?"

"That was just one Sorcerer. He has long since passed. Radovid." She added the last word with venom.

"Damn," Geralt breathed in disbelief. This could not be a dead end. There had to be someone else who could do this. There had to be someone else who could help her – who could help him fight for her.

"But Geralt," Triss started slowly, as if afraid to set him off, " _you_ know a highly gifted healer…"

He felt a stab of skeptical hope hook into him. "Who?"

"Geralt…"

"Triss, I don't think I know anyone who's a healer, but if I do, tell me now."

Eskel cut in darkly. "Your mother, Wolf."


	8. Chapter 7

Ciri had left Geralt at Triss and Eskel's house without a word so that she could come home to her mother, to make sure she was not alone, to watch over her while she slept. To relish the opportunity to do so.

Throughout their entire relationship, starting from when Ciri had first met the intimidating, menacing, captivating Sorceress in Nenneke's Temple, she had never once taken Yennefer's presence for granted. She had always lived with the knowledge that this woman whom she had come to love so deeply and depend on so profoundly – this woman whom she had come to know as her beloved mother – could be taken away from her at any moment. And in fact, she had been; many times in their lives, Yennefer and Ciri had been cruelly ripped from each other. It was nothing new to Ciri anymore.

So one would think that she would be at least somewhat emotionally prepared for the news of her mother's illness.

And how wrong one would be.

Ciri crawled back into bed with Yennefer, curling herself against her mother's sleeping body, clinging to her in a way she had never gotten a chance to do as a child. She breathed in her mother's scent, the juxtaposed sweetness and tartness of lilac and gooseberries. It was horribly fitting that these contrasting smells reflected the irony of the scent's significance to Ciri at the moment; it was simultaneously the most comforting thing in the world and the thing that struck the coldest fears within her.

Losing her mother was unthinkable. Losing her greatest source of strength, her rock, her confidante, her best friend – it was unimaginable. Ciri felt herself overcome with premature grief once again, her tears wetting her mother's shoulder, her sobs shaking Yennefer's form.

"Are you crying again?" Yennefer reprimanded in a voice barely above a whisper.

Ciri tried to compose herself, if for no other reason than to not disturb her mother's sleep; the doctor had ordered rest, and it was Ciri's duty to make sure she got it.

"Rest does not necessarily mean sleep, you know." Ciri sometimes forgot that Yennefer could read minds.

"I'm still sorry that I woke you, mother."

"I'm not. I would like to be there for my daughter in her time of need."

This brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. Yennefer was the one facing an illness, yet as always, she set herself aside to look after Ciri's needs. Ciri discovered again that there was no end to her mother's love for her.

She tried to hold the weeping at bay. If ever there was a moment to cherish the time she had with her mother, it was now – and she would be damned if she was going to waste it crying uselessly.

She burrowed further into her mother's bosom, willing the tears to subside. "Mother," she mumbled in an aimless plea, "mummy…" She felt Yennefer smile.

"You don't often call me that."

Ciri sniffled loudly and took a deep, shaking breath, calming herself with some success. "I think I've called you that once."

"Yes, I remember. Castle Stygga. In the corridor. I was in so much pain, but the sight of you was like a panacea."

"Do you remember what you said to me first, though? When you saw me in the corridor?"

"I asked you to come to me?"

"No. Before that."

"I don't recall."

"You admonished my appearance. 'Look at the state of you! Fix your hair! Don't slouch!'"

"Ah, yes. Now I remember. You must admit, your hair and posture were quite ghastly at the time."

"Considering the circumstances, I would say I fared alright."

"True. I'm sorry if I was ever overly harsh with you."

Ciri felt a pang in her heart. "Please never apologize for loving me the way you do." She felt Yennefer smile again and bring her arm around to stroke Ciri's hair. "You do understand how much you mean to me, don't you, mother?"

"I believe I do, though I get the distinct feeling you are preparing to indulge me with a barrage of compliments and sentimentality regardless."

It was true. Ciri needed to let her know. How she could have gone the entire duration of their time together without ever telling Yennefer what a vital role she played in Ciri's life, she was not sure – but this was her chance. The only trouble was, she did not know where to start.

Either through reading Ciri's thoughts or simply because she was a highly intuitive person, Yennefer seemed to sense her daughter's struggle. So after a few moments where Ciri came up short for words, Yennefer broke the silence for her daughter, taking the lead when her daughter needed her to – as always.

"You've made me whole, Ciri."

"Mother…" These damn tears.

"It's no secret that for most of my adult life until I met you, I desperately wanted a child, to bear a son or daughter to call my own. The desire was almost an obsession; it was the driving force behind most of my actions, including trying to tame a Djinn." Ciri smiled at the reference despite herself. "My infertility, during those periods when I was not actively trying to reverse it, would consume me with despair. I cursed fate and the gods, even though I did not believe in either. 'What was life if it could not be procreated?' I questioned."

Ciri shifted a little, careful not to interrupt.

"When I met you – or, rather, when you forced me to confront how I felt about you – all of those feelings left. In a single instant, when you threw your arms around me in our little room in Ellander, I realized that what I had before me was just as precious, _every bit_ as precious, as anything I could have created with my own body. That you, this little dirty girl with the wild mane and poor posture, who so often tried my patience and tested my boundaries, was everything that I could have ever asked for – and more."

"But I don't count as procreation."

"And I realized it does not matter. You are me, and you are Geralt. Your ashen hair is a testament to that – a perfect blend of my black and his white – not to say a word of your temperament and character. I've told you before, Ciri, that you are the catalyst to the love that Geralt and I share. What I did not tell you is that you are also the catalyst to my happiness. You're my fate and my something more, and my favorite part of that is, our destiny was forged through our own sheer will. You and I are family because we were determined to make it so. And presently, you are the reason this entire ordeal is even bearable. If I did not have you and were forced to confront the situation with my infertile organs being the potential cause of my end – well, there are not many things I do not have the mental fortitude for, but I believe that would be one of them."

"It will not be your end, mother. Please don't speak like that."

"It may be, and it may not be. Cirilla, we must face reality without the false pretenses of either optimism or pessimism. I promised Geralt that I would fight this, and I make you the same promise also. I will not leave you – either of you – if I have even a modicum of say in the matter. But what lies beyond my power will remain beyond my power, and that is my reality. I will not deny it, and neither should you deny yours."

"But I can't lose you." Ciri felt the tears threatening again. "I can't. Mother, I need you."

Yennefer planted a kiss on Ciri's head. "I love you, daughter." Ciri heard her mother's voice start to shake. "I always will. Always."

She held her mother tightly, afraid of what would happen if she stopped denying reality, afraid that 'always' reached into an afterlife she was not ready to acknowledge. She heard Yennefer sniffling from somewhere above her, and she clutched even tighter. She wished there was some way she could ease both of their pain.

"Thank you for loving me, mother," she forced out thickly, her words muffled by the fabric of Yennefer's nightdress. She heard Yennefer let out a sound that was both a sob and a chuckle. Ciri lifted her face and kissed her mother's cheek softly before laying her head on the most familiar shoulder in the world. She tasted her mother's tears on her lips. "I could have never done this without you. I could have never become who I am now, or have the courage to become who I want to be, if not for you."

She felt Yennefer's body quake, heard her choking back her tears. Ciri pushed on before her own sorrow could engulf her voice.

"Do you remember when Philippa told me that all of the Sorceresses of the Lodge envied you because they all wanted a daughter like me?" Ciri did not wait for an answer. "I knew what she meant; they all wanted to be the mother of the Last of the Elder Blood, the Lion Cub of Cintra, or the Lady of Time and Space. But you never saw me as any of those things. You never saw me for my powers or my lineage. You've only ever seen me for who I was, who I am: Your pretty little ugly one."

Yennefer was crying openly now, kissing her daughter, cradling her. Ciri's throat constricted achingly, but she was not finished. Not when there was still so much gratitude still left unsaid.

"I have always known that no matter what I did and what I chose to do, you would love me just the same, just as fiercely. And I cannot tell you what it means for a little orphaned girl to have that in her life. You've anchored me, you've protected me, you've taught me, you've cared for me, and you've given me a home. Not just this house, but a real sense of home; wherever you and Geralt are, I've always known I can find the place where I belong."

"You will always be our daughter."

"And you will always be my mother. My Lady Yennefer. The woman whom I admire most in this world. I will never stop striving to be like you, to have your courage, your wisdom, your strength, your compassion, your devotion, your drive, your endless ability to love a simple girl like me. I will never stop striving to make you proud of the woman you've raised. And I will never stop loving you, mother. Never."

Ciri's voice broke completely, but it was just as well; she was not sure Yennefer could hear her over her own crying. Mother and daughter wept together, holding each other as if their lives depended on it – which was not an unreasonable assumption considering they were so much the foundations of one another's lives.

"Please be okay," Ciri begged almost incomprehensibly. "Please, mummy. Please be okay."

"I will try, my dearest little one. I promise you that."


	9. Chapter 8

A great deal of sorcery and tracking were expended in the effort to find Visenna. Triss, Margarita, Philippa, Keira, and a few other faculty members at Aretuza – who either knew Yennefer personally or had otherwise been touched by her in some way – spared no amount of energy in their spells of geolocation. When they narrowed down the search to eastern Temeria, Philippa opened a portal to let Geralt and Eskel go to work. The two Witchers used every sense at their disposal, searching for prints, scents, sounds, and anything else they could find to help discern her whereabouts. The Sorceresses, meanwhile, traveled about in the area, asking villagers, merchants, barmaids, and anyone who would listen about a redheaded healer of feeble constitution with the skin of a teenage girl.

It was a great shock to all when their collective efforts turned up the unexpected answer: Visenna was staying in Ellander, at the Temple of Melitele, with Archpriestess Nenneke.

Even though he was less than an hour's ride away, Geralt let Triss teleport him. His disdain for portals did not enter his mind for a single second; he couldn't let it.

When he stepped through the light of the portal, he noticed Triss walk out of it behind him.

"You don't need to be here, Triss."

"I do, Geralt. She's my best friend, my sister. I can't not be here – I can't not do everything within my power to help."

Geralt understood the sentiment. "Alright, then."

Together, they strode up to the small wooden door next to the temple's main gate. Geralt knocked, and they did not need to wait long before it creaked open to reveal Nenneke's stern but kind features.

"Hello, dears! How wonderful to see you."

"Hi, Nenneke." Triss made to give the old woman an embrace, but Geralt cut them short, forgetting his manners.

"Nenneke, is Visenna here?" He cut right to the chase, not wanting to spend anymore time away from his wife.

"Geralt… Are you sure you want-"

"It's not for me. Yen… Yen needs her."

Nenneke's eyes widened. "Oh, my dear. Is she alright?"

"I'm going to make her alright. Which is why I need to find Visenna. Where is she, Nenneke?"

Nenneke gave a concerned but resolute nod and ushered them through the temple's entrance, gesturing up at the winding stone steps. "She's resting. But if your business really is as urgent as I believe it to be, I suggest that you wake her. Second landing, first room on the left."

Geralt did not need to be told twice. He took the steps three at a time, belatedly registering that Nenneke was shouting strange words of caution to him. Triss had the presence of mind to thank her for both of them before following after him.

Despite everything – his urgency and his fears – Geralt found himself frozen when he reached Visenna's door. A wave of resentment, hurt, and longing rushed through him. Thankfully, Triss was there to push past him, knocking forcefully, calling Visenna's name.

Visenna took a few moments to answer, but she pulled open the door nonetheless. Before him, for only the second time in his conscious recollection, Geralt beheld his birthmother: Her long hair, red like cinnabar, her small nose and narrow chin which bore no resemblance to him. He met her eyes in the light of day for the first time. They were emerald green, not unlike Ciri's. He chose not to read into that fact.

Instead, he focused his attention on what her thin, frail hands were holding, subconsciously caressing: Her very pregnant belly.

"What the fuck?" he breathed.

"Geralt?" Her voice sounded fearful.

"You're pregnant? Again?"

Visenna looked down at her belly. "Yes."

A sickening thought dawned on him. "How many, Visenna? How many of us are there?"

There was a draining silence. Triss shifted uncomfortably, opening and closing her mouth as if unsure whether to speak.

"Alive, only you."

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he might do next. He hated her so much right then, he was consumed by it.

The gentle but firm touch of Triss's hand on his shoulder brought some control back into his senses. "We're here for Yennefer, Geralt," she reminded. "For your Yen."

He tried to allow her words to sink in, to allow his wife's name to permeate. He knew Triss was right, but he needed to overcome his fury first, to push past his grief over the lost siblings he'd never known he'd had.

"What are you going to do with this one?" He knew he could not move on without hearing this answer, although a part of him had already guessed.

"This baby will be raised in the Temple of Melitele. To become a Priestess or Priest. Something the world needs."

Rage burned through him for this injustice. He wanted to argue on this baby's behalf, to stop her from abandoning it like she did to him, to tell her that she had absolutely no right to decide its fate and future before it had so much as taken its first breath. He wanted to show her what a vile person she was, yell at her for her irresponsible ways that led to the destruction of innocent children's lives. But Triss's resolute voice pierced his consciousness once more.

"Geralt, come to your senses. We're here for Yennefer. Your Yen. She needs a healer. She needs someone who can save her life, Geralt, and Visenna is her best hope. And she needs you. Geralt, Yenna needs you to come to your senses so that we can save her life, so that she can have a chance to live."

Rational thoughts slowly ebbed back into his mind. Yennefer, lying in their bed, cradling Ciri's tear-stained face. Yennefer, kissing him, holding him, promising that she would fight this with him, when he knew that she was really fighting it _for_ him. Yennefer, clutching to him in agony as he searched every corner of his mind for some way to ease her pain. They were here for her. Not Visenna or this baby. They were here for his Yen.

"Thank you, Triss."

"Get on with it, Geralt."

Visenna looked between her two visitors with wariness. "Why did you come, Geralt?"

"I need your help. And I will not allow you to say no."


	10. Chapter 9

She had promised them both repeatedly that she would 'fight' this, and Yennefer of Vengerberg was nothing if not a woman of her word. But it did not escape her just how vague and almost inappropriate this expression was, even in context; in what lexicon would 'fight' ever denote merely confining oneself to bed rest?

If these were truly the last of her days, Yennefer would have personally chosen to spend them very differently. There were places that she had yet to travel to, cuisines and brews she wished for her lips to taste, questions and mysteries she did not want to depart this world without addressing. And when her time came, she would simply take Death's hand and walk on, releasing anything tethering her to her life.

But her life was no longer about her. It was a funny little thought, but one that she believed in with complete devotion. She lived now for Geralt and Ciri, because she was now a wife and a mother. Those two titles meant more to her than any title she had held in the past, any accomplishment she had notched on her belt, and she would gladly die to fulfill her duties to her husband and child. Or, in this case, she would set herself aside to try and cling to life to fulfill her duties to her husband and child.

So ignoring every ingrained instinct screaming at her to snatch a traveling cloak and take off into the wind, Yennefer forced herself to stay in bed, leaving her and Geralt's room only for trips to the latrine. Her meals were brought to her; Ciri, Geralt, Triss, Eskel, Barnabas-Basil, Marlene, and other friends she had conceded to revealing her condition to kept her in constant company; and Geralt had even procured a new tub to place in the corner of their room so that she did not need to walk more than ten paces to indulge in her daily baths.

And it really was an indulgence, as Geralt had taken to being the one to bathe her – to run a gentle, soapy cloth over every inch of her body, cleansing her, awakening senses she hadn't realized existed. She had known that baths were an extravagance before, but this – this was ecstacy. And to think, she had been highly reluctant to allow him this act at first, considering she was not at all such an invalid that she was incapable of taking her own baths. Yet, she'd known how much this small task would mean to him as he struggled with his own futility in the matter of her health. So she had wordlessly granted him his request, only to find that she enjoyed it possibly more than he did – even though these baths, sensual as they were, never led to sex. She mentally noted that if she survived this ordeal, she would have to devise some clever excuse to relive this luxury in a way that could fully satisfy the burning of her desire for her husband.

The physician was a punctual person, which Yennefer appreciated. He sent an assistant exactly six days after the incident, announcing that the surgery would be set to commence the next morning. That evening, after much polite requesting from Marlene and firm persuading from Yennefer, Geralt and Ciri relented to allowing her a family meal at the table. Actually, Ciri had been the one who needed coaxing; Geralt had been surprisingly amenable to the request, almost as if it was part of some grander machination he had been plotting. Yennefer did not prod his mind; she would not spend what could possibly be her final evening with him disrespecting him. And to her pleasant surprise, Triss and Eskel joined them for supper. She found, once again, that there was no greater joy than to be surrounded by the people dearest to her heart.

"And how do you like living in a place where you are often the only male present, Eskel?" Yennefer teased, flatly refusing to allow their time together to descend into doom and gloom.

Eskel ducked his head shyly – a mannerism that Yennefer was sure helped endear him to Triss. "It's okay, I guess. A little weird sometimes, especially after growing up in a boys' club like Kaer Morhen. But I get to be with my Triss. There's not much more I can ask for." Triss rewarded him with a blushing smile.

"He's been wonderful," she added for him. "He's the reason we all feel so safe. What other school can claim to have a Witcher on retainer?"

"So are you retired from the Path, then?" Ciri inquired.

"Only as much as your father is. I'll always be a Witcher, but there are more important things in my life now than arbitrarily following a philosophy that I never chose for myself."

"Hear, hear," Geralt interjected, though he was still unusually quiet – even by his standards.

"And you, Triss?" Yennefer maintained the flow of conversation, not allowing their evening to succumb to their unspoken fears. "How is life now that you've finally decided to become a teacher?"

"Stressful, infuriating, and quite possibly the most gratifying thing I have ever done – professionally, that is," she amended the last part with a tender glance at Eskel. "I can't thank you enough for turning me onto teaching. I feel like I'm starting a chapter in my life that I had been meant for all along."

Yennefer could identify with that sentiment completely. It warmed her to know that should she be leaving this world, she could do so with the knowledge that her friend had at last found her place in it. She was about to ask for stories from the classroom when a knock came at the door. Everyone at the table, save for Ciri and herself, stopped their movements, looking scared and guilty as sin.

"Geralt?" Yennefer knew who to extract her answer from, who the guiltiest party was. "Who is it that's calling?"


	11. Chapter 10

Triss had known Yennefer for long enough to have witnessed the occasional outlier in the older Sorceress's usually cool demeanor. She had seen her friend deflated after the events at Thanedd, livid in her demands for Triss to stay away from her man, and inconsolable as she held Geralt's dying body in her arms. She had seen many sides of Yennefer that most people never did.

But she had never seen Yennefer destructive and wild.

At the sight of a pregnant Visenna – whose face Triss presumed her friend had spied during Geralt's times of sorrow, whose plan for her unborn child was no mystery to any who knew her – Yennefer had flown into an uncontrolled rage. What Visenna embodied – the damage done to her husband's psyche and the inexcusable squander of motherhood – had triggered a wrath that Triss did not recognize in her oldest friend.

"Get this woman out of my sight!" Yennefer roared as Ciri and Geralt struggled to restrain her, her fingers sparking ominously, her violet eyes thundering, her body a perilous charge of sorcery and fury. "Get this _thing_ out of my house and off of my property, or else let me at her!"

"Yen-" Geralt croaked while straining to contain his wife as she clawed to get at the healer standing behind Eskel's hulking form. "Yen, stop! Yen!"

"Mother, you cannot exert yourself like this!" Ciri's face was wrought with alarm as the room began to grow dark, wisps of lightning slashing randomly in the air. As a large bolt materialized and missed Yennefer's own writhing body by mere inches, Triss realized that Yennefer's magic – always unimpeachable in its precision and restraint – had broken free of its wielder's control. "Please, mother! Calm down – you'll hurt yourself!"

"Then so be it!" Yennefer bellowed, the gales of her rage blinding her to the chaos she was creating. "Let me save that poor child from inside her then take her to hell with me! Let me die and go to hell if it means I can take this vile piece of shit down with me!" A vase exploded near Eskel's torso, and several teacups shot across the room like arrows signaling battle.

"Mother, stop!"

"Yen!"

Triss feared for her friend as Yennefer continued to strain against her husband and daughter's arms, her cries of vitriol summoning raw acts of unintended sorcery. Yet, Triss found herself in overwhelming sympathy with Yennefer's fury. Visenna was the personification of everything that Yennefer loathed; what was so cherished, so invaluable in Yennefer's life, Visenna had discarded with repulsive abandon.

Still, Visenna was their best hope for her, and Yennefer needed to be alive in order to cherish and value what Visenna did not.

Reluctantly, Triss muttered an incantation under her breath. She saw Yennefer grow limp and the room fall suddenly still. "That was my spell," she quickly reassured when terror blanched Ciri and Geralt's faces. "Just until we can…" She was not sure how to finish that sentence.

Geralt lifted his unconscious wife and gingerly carried her into their room. He stayed inside with her while Triss and Eskel caught their breaths and silently checked over one another for injury. Ciri righted herself and swallowed a few sobs before turning to a sullen Visenna. Triss noticed a tempest brewing in Ciri's eyes – a tribute to the maelstrom in her mother's heart.

"So you're my 'grandmother'?" the young Witcheress breathed through gritted teeth, her voice chillingly low.

"I didn't realize Geralt-"

"I'm not his birth daughter. Neither his nor Yennefer's."

"I see."

"No, you don't. You don't see. You don't see what my family is made of. You can't possibly see what we mean to one another."

Visenna did not respond.

"I assume you are here for a better reason than to cause my parents all this hurt?"

"Geralt asked me to come. I'm a healer. I'm to help ensure the surgery proceeds with minimal damage tomorrow."

"Is this true, Triss?" Ciri demanded without taking her dangerous eyes off of Visenna.

"It is," Triss confirmed.

"Then do it. Do your job. Help my mother, and receive any form of payment you desire. After that, never show your face to us again."

Ciri turned on her heel and stormed into her parents' room, slamming the door behind her to shut out a world that she no longer had the time for.


	12. Chapter 11

When Yennefer awoke, she was still seething. Her arms and legs reflexively went to strike at the person who sickened her beyond rational thought, but she found she was swinging at air. It took a moment for her to realize that the only other people in the room were her husband and her daughter – who were both hovering over her with so much fear, despair, and desperation written on their faces that her heart broke.

This was one of those rare occasions when she didn't know what to say, when no words seemed like the right ones. She waited for her mind to muster something to soothe the pain in her beloved ones, but nothing came. The silence started to stifle her as she battled the image of the woman who had abused the things she held most dear in her life. How could she ever allow that woman to have a hand in her fate? How could Geralt?

"I love you, Yen."

The simple truth of it stung her with unbidden tears.

"I love you beyond what seems humanly possible, beyond what was ever thought conceivable for a Witcher like me. I love you so much it hurts. So much that I think it will kill me to lose you."

"Geralt, don't." This was not his battle. It was hers, and hers alone.

"Mother, please listen."

"Ciri, no." It was hers, and hers alone.

"Mother, I love you. I love you because you are strong. You are so much stronger than her. She has the ability to bear children, yet you're the one who is a mother. You're the one who was strong enough to be my mother. I love you so much for that."

She was losing hold. A choked whimper escaped her pursed lips as the force of their love breached her defenses.

"Yen," his voice was thick and raw, "you are the strongest person I know. You have never backed down from an enemy, no matter how powerful. But I- we need you to be stronger than even yourself now. Because you need to fight this, fight your own hate."

"She is our best hope, mother. You know that. I know you know that. Please, please do not turn your back on that hope."

She felt her will besieged by their tenderness, but her fury continued to surge. "She is everything I abhor."

Geralt and Ciri did not respond. They only watched as her strife raged on.

"She is cruel, careless, and selfish to do what she has done. Evil to throw away what should be so cherished."

They remained silent, listening. Waiting.

She could not look them in the eyes. Not when they filled her broken resolve with such warmth and light. Not when Geralt's silence had always been her undoing.

She felt the last bastion of her anger fall, felt her walls crumble. She could see a path before her now, and her path diverged. She needed to make a choice.

She chose them.

"And I will not be her."

They let out a breath. She felt their relief as she vented out the last vestiges of futile resistance.

"I will not abandon you. Not if I have any say in it. I've promised you that I will fight. I am going to keep that promise."

"So you'll let her help?" Geralt always needed affirmation.

"Yes."

"Thank you."


	13. Chapter 12

The morning came far too soon. Geralt had consented to Ciri's request, allowing her to spend the night on their bed next to her mother. It was not at all uncomfortable, considering the three of them had clung to each other so tightly that they took up barely half of the bed. He knew that after Yennefer had drifted off, Ciri had done as he did – refusing to close her eyes, unwilling to let sleep steal what was so precious.

As the sun rose, its rays stirring Yennefer's resting form, Geralt thought of Melitele. He did not know how to pray, and he did not believe in gods. Yet, She had been so ever-present in the life of his family that he knew if there was a single god whom he could've been wrong about, a single god who cared about them enough to exist, it was Her. He breathed a plea to Her, expecting nothing but still needing to hope for the unexpected.

He lied awake with his wife in his arms for as long as he could, wishing he had the ability to stretch time. He knew Ciri was doing the same. At one point, Yennefer rolled over to face him, her eyes spilling open. The family stayed in place wordlessly, willing the next moment to never come.

But when Triss's knock resounded at their door, he knew it was time.

He had never been so afraid in his life.


	14. Chapter 13

The medical center was tasteful. Ciri had feared it would either be littered with falsely optimistic decorations mocking its occupants with useless distractions, or be so barren that all those who entered would be washed in the dread of the worst possibilities. Instead, she found it to be the perfect space in which to wait, to determine if fate was a gentle or cruel beast.

Triss had gone into the operating room with Visenna. She had powers that could prove to be useful, even if unexpectedly, and she was also good at staying to the side so as not to be in the way.

Ciri, Geralt, and Eskel sat in the waiting area. There were no other people. Just them, their thoughts, their worries, their fears, and their greatest, most vehement hopes.

Minutes dragged into hours, morning into afternoon. Triss emerged at one point, informing them that the first hurdle had been cleared, the offending organ removed. Geralt and Ciri thanked her before she went back in, though Ciri knew it was not time to breathe the sigh of relief yet.

She would simply need to keep waiting for that moment.


	15. Chapter 14

The sun was starting to set. Geralt could feel its potent heat abating, turning instead into a blanket that covered the city in radiant warmth. He saw the room around him grow dim.

Something powerful came over his wakeful, watchful eyes. He found himself unable to latch onto the last tendrils of consciousness. He was being absorbed into a dream – a peaceful slumber saturated with golden rays, chirping birds, and the intoxicating fragrance of lilac and gooseberries.

He was in their vineyard. His, Yen's, and Ciri's vineyard. They were on Yen's couch. The one that he had placed for her on a grassy knoll when she had first arrived. The one that she had loved so much she had endowed it with the magic to withstand any manner of wear. Yen sat in the middle, holding his and Ciri's hands on either side of her. She was wearing the sheer, flowing dress that she had married him in.

"This is paradise," he heard her say, her voice silky with joy. "Our paradise."

Her familiar words brought a flutter to his heart.

He turned to look at her, to take her in. He could never get enough of her beauty, her presence, her very being. Her eyes were closed in serenity, her lips curved in contentment, her skin glowing in the sunlight. She was the perfect picture of happiness.

"This is what you have given me. Both of you."

She turned to face Ciri, and he felt a pang of nostalgia; he missed her eyes.

"My daughter. You are my dream come true. A dream that I did not know I held. A dream that I awoke to in bliss. I know that you need me, but I also know that you are strong. You are so much stronger than you realize. That is one trait I have passed on to you, and you will take it beyond what I have imparted. You are strong, confident, courageous, just, patient, kind, clever, and so, so beautiful. You are the best of me, and you are my pride. My greatest pride. I thank you for giving me that, for letting me be the mother to such a stunning young woman." She placed a long kiss on the crown of Ciri's head.

She turned to him now. He could not speak. Her violet, smiling eyes bored into his soul.

"My love. You have given me joy beyond my wildest imagination. You are my one and only, my everything. I cherish everything. Every memory, every talk, every joke, every fight, every touch, every kiss. I do not believe there are any words to capture the love that I hold for you. For the man that you are. For the wonderful husband, father, and friend that you are. For your noble, gentle, powerful, loving heart. For the endless depths of your love and your devotion to me and the woman that I am. I thank you for giving me that, for letting me be the wife to such a beautiful man." She placed a long kiss on his lips.

She stood and turned to face them. He suddenly found himself nestled up to Ciri, the two of them somehow occupying the space Yen had just vacated. He was holding Ciri's hand.

"Thank you for letting me be a mother and a wife. Thank you for bringing more happiness to me than a poor, broken girl from Vengerberg could have ever thought possible. I will love you both forever, I promise. And you will laugh again one day, I promise. Love each other. Cherish each other. Take care of each other. Find peace and comfort and joy in each other."

She started to back away. He lifted his free hand to her but could not reach her.

"I will love you both forever," she repeated.

Then she was gone.

Geralt's eyes snapped open. They met Ciri's – a mirror reflection of his dawning terror.

He knew. And she knew, too.

 _That was not a dream. That was…._

Ciri Blinked into the operating room. Geralt was not much slower to reach it.

 _That was…_


	16. Chapter 15

Triss felt pain and guilt threaten to overcome her. She had failed Yennefer. She had failed them all. The medical professionals had done everything right – removing every mutated organ and tissue with a precision that could only be described as surgical, meticulously examining the remnants of her friend's opened belly to eliminate any future threats. Visenna had soldiered through with admirable focus and commitment, not once taking even a breath she was not certain would not detract from her spellwork. In the end, it had been left to Triss to suture the incisions; magic was the superior option to stitches, and Visenna was too depleted to complete the task. But right as Triss had finished adhering the final inches of flesh, right as everyone in the room readied themselves to breathe a sigh of relief, Yennefer had gone into shock – and it was beyond any of their powers to help her.

Yennefer had died under Triss's hands.

She yearned to rage and grieve, but she forced herself to remain strong – if only for a few more moments – to make sure the physician's assistants removed the bloodied sheets and instruments, to clean and dress her best friend in a manner befitting her dignity. To make the scene slightly more bearable for Geralt and Ciri before she went to break the news to them – if such a thing were even possible.

She had barely finished wiping the last smears of blood off of Yennefer's body before Ciri materialized next to her, Geralt barreling into the room a short second later.

"Mother…"

She could not watch, but she forced herself to. She needed to support them, now more than ever. She owed her friend at least that.

She watched as Ciri knelt by her mother's head. Her eyes searched her mother's body, scouring it for any sign of life, any sign of hope. When she did not find it, she let out a wretched wail that sheared through Triss like physical pain before burying her twisted face in her mother's bosom. She took so long between cries that Triss worried she was suffering for air. She made incomprehensible pleas to her mother's unhearing form, swinging her mother's arm over her shoulder as if begging for comfort. It was excruciating to know that Ciri had lost yet another person in her life whom she would never have a chance to say goodbye to.

But if witnessing Ciri's grief broke Triss's heart, then seeing Geralt's fractured her soul.

He walked slowly to his wife, soundless as a ghost. He knelt down beside her face, caressed her cheek, took her left hand, and kissed both of her slightly parted lips. Then he spoke to her.

"Yen?" Triss turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She could not do this, could not watch this, could not bear this. "Yen, can you hear me? Yen, my love? My heart, my life, can you hear me? Yen, it's time to wake up." Triss heard a sob escape her own throat. "Please, open your eyes, Yen. It's time to wake up. Time to go home. I need you to wake up so we can go home. Yen, I need you to open your eyes. I need you to- I need you t- I need you, Yen. I need you. Please. Wake up. Open your eyes. Please."

Geralt's words petered into incoherence. If anyone doubted that a Witcher could cry, they did not know the power of Geralt's love for Yennefer, the torment of his anguish in losing her. Triss willed herself to look again, to behold the sight of Geralt gripping his wife's hand, his fingers rubbing her wedding band as if in disbelief that he had allowed their marriage to be stolen from them. He pressed his contorted face into the bedframe beside her with far too much force and kicked his leg repeatedly against the floor, almost as though hoping that physical pain could grant him some semblance of reprieve from the agony in his soul.

She had never seen anybody so broken.

As Triss started to lose her fight against her own grief, she only barely registered Eskel's arm bracing her shoulders. And the physician and his aids bowing their heads in respect and sympathy. And Visenna muttering a painfully familiar incantation around Yennefer's head. An incantation that Triss had heard only once before, in a terrible memory that she had hoped would stay buried forever. In that memory, Geralt had died. In that memory, Yennefer had chanted the incantation to bring him back. But in that memory, Triss knew she could not, because Yennefer was infertile, and the spell did not work in the hands of infertile mages.

But Visenna was different. She was not only fertile; she held an extra life within her.

And in that moment, Triss understood what would happen next. That where Yennefer had failed, Visenna would succeed, but that Death would not be cheated out of a prize.

So it was with no surprise as she watched Visenna's visage start to pale and her nose start to bleed before she fainted to the floor with nobody near enough to catch her.

And with no surprise as she watched Yennefer's eyes fly open and her lips gasp sharp intakes of air as her life was restored to her.

And with no surprise as she watched, after the initial shock, the little family clutch to one another in tears of disbelief, elation, and the remnants of grief, oblivious – for now – to the unborn infant who had died to make them whole again.


	17. Chapter 16

_**Disclaimer:**_ _The following chapters contain references to feelings that may arise from experiences with the death of unborn children, as may be the case surrounding the issue of abortion. The commentary here is done solely through Yennefer's and Geralt's perspectives, and is in no way meant to be a political statement or an opinion of anyone's life choices. This is purely work of fanfiction, but if there are any concerns, please feel free to PM me._

* * *

Yennefer was disoriented, confused, and a little apprehensive, but she let none of that show as she held her husband and daughter's wracking bodies, stroking their heads and their backs, trying to soothe them – to reassure them that she was here now and that they had nothing to fear anymore – despite not knowing why her words were true.

"I'm with you, I'm with you," she assured repeatedly. "Hush, my dearests. It's alright now. I'm with you now."

Ciri was unable to utter any words aside from 'mother' and 'mummy', while Geralt alternated between her name and breaths of thanks to some unseen force. She continued to console them, to guide them out of their grief, until their shaking and their sobs finally subsided into intermittent whimpers from Ciri and lingering kisses from Geralt.

When she was sure that they were stable at last, she tended to her own troubled thoughts. _How, Triss?_

Her friend met her eyes with both relief and regret, and Yennefer knew she was right to fear the answer.

 _Visenna revived you with a spell._

Vicious chills ripped through her. _At what cost?_

Triss looked away and did not reply, but she did not need to.

Yennefer lowered her eyes in mourning and remorse. _The baby._

 _Yes_.

She felt drained. Who was she that she deserved to cheat death twice – and this time, at the expense of an innocent child? What was fate to toy with life so callously?

"Doctor?" Yennefer addressed the physician in as calm and respectful a tone as she could manage, before she could fall victim to the abject emptiness waiting to devour her.

"Yes?" He sounded as if he had just seen a ghost.

"May I please go home now?"


	18. Chapter 17

His heart bled for her, yet he could do nothing to help her. In the weeks since the operation, even though Yennefer had come home alive, she was not truly there. She drifted through each day either sleeping or pretending to sleep, always tear-stained, always grieving, always tortured with guilt. And in those rare instances when she would float about the house like a lost soul, Geralt saw no life in her usually vivacious eyes, despite the constant reassurance from her steadily beating heart that she was still very much with him – physically. He felt powerless to help her out of her abyss.

In his opinion, if anyone deserved to be alive, deserved a second, third, or twentieth chance at being in this world, it was the best person he knew – his Yen. And in a twisted way, her anguish reaffirmed what he loved so incurably about her. The fact that she would be so profoundly devastated by the loss of an innocent child for her sake, feel so personally responsible for this unrequested sacrifice made in her name, was what made her, her. It was what revealed the depth of her character and the tenderness of her soul.

But he understood that there was no convincing her – no argument to be made in general, really – that any one person was worth the death of an unborn child. He empathized with her pain and sympathized with her self-loathing; he, too, mourned the baby brother whom he had never gotten a chance to meet, thank, love, and beg forgiveness from. He could provide no cure for her grief, and a small, frightening part of him discovered that he could not reach her because, unlike her, he did not regret this sleight of fate's hand.

He merely cursed the cruel irony that it had cast them in yet again. Because even in having her back and having her health restored, he could do no more than to stay with her, care for her, and hold her as she struggled with demons that, for once, he was not sure she was strong enough to defeat.


	19. Chapter 18

Ciri made the short trek to the hill above their home where a delicate shrine had been built to honor the infant who had given his life for her mother. For the first time, she wished Toussaint were not so beautiful, so picturesque; she wished that the sun and birds and fragrant flowers could be replaced with piercing winds and freezing rain. Because this felt like a mockery.

Her mother was alive, and there was no higher priority in Ciri's world than to have her parents with her. But the cost had been so great that she was uncertain if her mother could ever bring herself to repay it – by appreciating the sacrifice, by relishing the life regifted to her, by really, truly living again.

Ciri knelt down before the mound where the tiny body was buried, arranged by two expert Witchers with tributes to his unborn life in such a way that his spirit was allowed to pass on quickly and peacefully.

 _Baby uncle_. She smiled despite herself at the thought of the ridiculous title.

"May I approach?" The voice was hesitant but familiar. It took a moment for Ciri to place.

"Hello, Visenna."

"May I approach, Cirilla?" Visenna repeated; she seemed genuinely deferent. Ciri felt a pang of guilt mixed with some other feelings she did not wish to identify.

"Of course. He is- He was your son."

Visenna stepped down and knelt next to her. Ciri saw that her face was stained with tracks of dried tears, and that fresh ones threatened at her lashes.

"May I know why you've stayed?" She had thought Visenna had long since left Beauclair.

Visenna sniffled once before replying. "Because I am a mother."

Ciri did not know how to respond. In the past, she would have met Visenna's observation with rancor and scorn, but those seemed inappropriate now; there was more to Visenna than Ciri could understand.

After reaching out a shaky hand to touch the little mound – lightly, feather soft – Visenna turned to Ciri.

"May I see your mother?"

The image of Yennefer's wild rage at seeing Visenna that evening so many lifetimes ago flashed through Ciri's mind. It worried her.

"Why do you wish to see her?"

"Because the only thing that can alleviate your mother's grief is to share in another mother's grief."


	20. Chapter 19

Yennefer sensed her approach before Visenna had even neared the house. She had been waiting for it.

She raised herself from their bed, careful not to wake Geralt's napping form. She touched her fingers to his cheek; she loved him so much, but love seemed like an undeserved luxury now.

Padding across their room, she picked up her dress robe and slipped it on. She would meet Visenna outside; it just seemed right, for some reason.

Visenna was standing by the door when Yennefer stepped out. Their eyes met, and Yennefer found she was no longer overcome with the vitriol that had one consumed her image of Visenna.

"Yennefer, my dear." Visenna opened her arms tentatively, as if unsure she was welcome. Yennefer stepped into her embrace without hesitation and shed tears of a grief that only a mother could understand.

"I'm so sorry, Visenna. I had no right to it. I had no right to it."

"No, you did not," Visenna replied in a soothing tone that sharply contrasted the meaning of her words.

Yennefer brought her hands up to Visenna's arms, unwilling to hold her but wanting to connect with her somehow. The two mothers cried together.

"Mother…" Ciri had appeared from somewhere. Her face was riddled with concern, and Yennefer felt burdened with a new wave of guilt. She hastily rearranged herself.

"It's alright, Ciri," she assuaged. "I'm alright. Go inside with Geralt. I will be with you shortly."

Ciri obeyed, if unwillingly. Yennefer watched her beloved child disappear behind the door before turning again to Visenna.

"Shall we?"

Visenna gave a single nod, and the two mothers strode wordlessly up the hill to visit Visenna's dead son. The distance was short, but the walk felt like traversing an entire world – into the real world that was too raw to confront. When they reached the shrine, Yennefer found it took all of her will power to meet it face-on. They knelt down together. It was a long time before either woman spoke.

"I'm sorry, little one," Yennefer croaked. "I'm sorry that your first breath was taken from you. I'm sorry that your future was taken from you. I'm sorry that your fate amounted to no more than an extension of mine when you so deserved to forge it for yourself."

Visenna turned to her. "Is that what you believe about fate?" There was no malice or judgment in the question – only curiosity.

"I believe that fate is forged, yes."

"Can it truly be called fate, then, if you have control over it?"

"It can. Because fate is something that is both predestined and malleable. Certain events are slated to happen, but with very few exceptions, one has the power to accept them, alter them, reject them, or thwart them."

"So you do not believe fate to be something you merely wait for to unfold?"

"I do not."

Visenna seemed to be thinking over those words. "Is that what Geralt believes, also?"

"Yes. It is what all three of us believe, because it is what our family is made of. This family was founded both by the hands of fate and by our own toils."

Visenna paused again. "What does he think of his fate, then?" The question was vague, but Yennefer understood her aim.

She told the truth. "He resents you for abandoning him, and he believes you to be cruel for subjecting him to the Trials. Only three in ten boys survive on average; only two did in his cohort. And you knew the dangers; you spoke with Vesemir before deserting him. You gave him a name and still you deserted him. It was that willingness to leave him at the doors of Death that damaged him most, that made him feel most unloved and uncared for. It caused him to believe all of the revolting rumors about his kind – that he was inhuman, worthless, depraved, a mutant incapable of either giving or receiving love. It took a nearly a lifetime for him to heal from that wound."

Visenna was shedding silent tears. "Thank you for being the one to heal that wound."

Yennefer nodded in acceptance.

Visenna continued. "But I believe something different. I believe that fate is the ultimate, all-consuming force – that we can neither influence it nor ignore it. I believe that our lives were prewritten, and that our actions are all part of a grander plan."

"And therefore have no consequences?"

"None that are not also predetermined."

Yennefer digested this without feeling the need or the desire to accept it for herself; she simply wished to know if she could comprehend Visenna's actions from such a foreign perspective.

She found that she could.

"You grieve for you lost son." It was not a question.

"Deeply."

"Yet you were willing to leave him at a temple."

"I believe it was the guidance of his fate."

"You believe that your impulses are the guidance of fate."

"You could put it that way."

"Is that why you did what you did in the operating room?"

"Yes. It was not my intention to sacrifice the life of one child to make another whole again, but it was the consequence of my actions. And I believe it to be a consequence born of a benevolent fate."

"How can the death of a child ever be the product of benevolence?"

"I do not know, but the reunification of a loving family can certainly be seen as such, no?"

"…Perhaps."

"Do you believe that Geralt and Cirilla could have ever been happy again without you?"

"Ciri, yes – if after a long while, but eventually, yes. Geralt…"

"He would have withered and died without you, Yennefer."

Visenna was right. "I know."

Yennefer bowed her head, allowing herself to be lost for a moment in the turmoil in her mind. It seemed as if Visenna was giving her permission to forgive herself. Was it Visenna's permission to give?

"Live, Yennefer."

"I…"

"Please. For him."

She knew that this singular pronoun was inclusive of both of Visenna's sons on this land – the living one and the dead.

"…Thank you, Visenna."


	21. Chapter 20

_**Author's Note:**_ _This chapter makes references to a disabled scene from TW3 called "_ _Geralt Cooks for Yennefer_ _."_

* * *

Geralt woke from his nap to an empty room, and for a minute, he feared the worst. But when he ran into Ciri in the main hall, sitting forlornly at the dining table, she reassured him with vague yet firm words that Yennefer was, at least, safe.

He sat down with her, and he came to a decision. Yennefer was always the one to comfort them in their times of need, but Geralt would be damned if he could not fill in for his wife while she was too tormented with her own struggles to fulfill her usual role. His wife and his daughter both needed him to be a father now. His own feelings could wait.

"Are you hungry?" he asked as his first attempt. This was very rarely an inappropriate question.

Ciri regarded him for a moment. He could see her battling between two options before looking deflated again. "I'm alright, thanks."

He sat for a while, searching for other ways to reach out to his daughter.

Then he saw her mind wrestle once more, only this time, she came out looking resolute. "Actually, I could eat."

She started to get up, but he put out a staying hand. "No, you sit. Let me fix you something."

This brought a smile to her face – a genuine smile that only Ciri could affect. "I have not heard good reviews of your cooking."

"I successfully made an omelet once."

"You also failed to boil an egg in water once."

"She told you about that, huh?"

"There aren't many things about you I don't know, Geralt."

"Scary thought. But that soft-boiled egg incident wasn't my fault."

"How is that even possible?"

"Got distracted."

"By what?"

He cleared his throat. "That's private."

Geralt saw, for the first time in far too long, a playful glint in Ciri's eyes. But it disappeared before it could become anything substantial.

Still, it was a step in the right direction.

"So, what do you want to eat?"

"What do you have?"

He got up and walked to his pantry – or, rather, Marlene's pantry. "I see some cheese," he shouted over his shoulder while rummaging, "some… other cheese. Bread. Raw meat on ice – I could Igni it? No? Hmm… Here's… more cheese. More-" He leaned out of the pantry to face her. "You want cheese?"

She smiled her Ciri smile again, and he felt heartened. "Yes, I'd like some cheese, old man. Preferably with bread."

He snatched the bread and all three blocks of cheese within easy access and, after a thought, grabbed a fourth block for good measure. When he returned to the table with loaded arms, he saw that Ciri had gotten up to fetch a bottle of red. He set the food down and went to get cutlery – forks and knives.

Apparently, that was a faux pas.

As she poured the wine into their respective goblets back at the table – but not into a third one set aside for unsaid reasons – she stared at the silverware in his hands, scandalized.

"Are you going to eat cheese with a fork?"

"How else would you do it?"

"Cut off a slice with your knife, place it on a piece of bread, pick it up with your fingers, eat."

"No, Ciri," he lectured as he sat down, handing Ciri her share of the cutlery. "You use a fork, too. Cut into it like it's a piece of chicken or steak." He demonstrated the movement. "It's the civilized thing to do."

"Says who?"

"Your mother."

"That can't possibly be true. Lady Yennefer would not be so stiff as to eat cheese with a fork."

"Well, she is _hardened_ in the ways of high society."

"What?"

"Meant that as a play on words – a joke."

"The joke did not land, then."

He growled.

Ciri smiled a third time, and the glint of playfulness returned – only this time, it stayed. This was a very good sign. "Do you know she likes when you do that?"

"Do what?" He looked down at his hands. "Eat with a fork and knife? Yeah, I told you. She taught me how to be civilized."

"No, Geralt. First off, drop it with this notion that Yennefer eats cheese with a fork. My mother would not do something so crass ("Hey!"), and no amount of your insistence will convince me otherwise. And anyway, that's not what I meant. She likes when you growl."

This was new. "Huh?"

"She thinks it makes you sound wild. Says it turns her on."

He flushed a color he was sure resembled the wine he was suddenly hiding his face behind. "She tells you about that stuff?"

Ciri rolled her eyes. "She tells me a lot more than I want to know. Sometimes, I think she does it just to watch me squirm."

"She's got a warped sense of humor, that woman."

"It's all in good fun. She does it when she senses I need a lift in spirits, a distraction. Mother… she always seems to know just what to say."

"That's Yen," he mused with a sad smile. He loved her so much. And missed her so much.

There was a lull, and Geralt knew that they were both turning inward again, about to be consumed by their own anxieties once more. He was starting to will himself back into reality – back into conversation for his daughter – when the door opened, revealing his wife. She drifted into the house, looking… slightly different. She stopped when she saw them.

She stared at his hands with weak eyes, and her voice was small when she spoke. "Is that a fork with your cheese, Geralt?" The question came out limply, but it held a tone of something he recognized.

"Yeah?" He trod carefully, afraid she would fall away again if he didn't. He saw Ciri out of the corner of his eye regarding her mother with the same guarded hope.

Yennefer paused for a moment and almost seemed to quiver on the spot. Then he saw it. Her lips curved ever so slightly, and a hint of life returned to her violet eyes.

"What's wrong with that?" he coaxed, slowly, as if she were a wounded animal just learning to trust. "Isn't it the civilized way to eat cheese?"

Then her eyes connected with his, and everything inside him melted. All of his pain, worries, and fears flew from him in an instant. He shivered with happiness.

"No, my love," she breathed with a smile. Her eyes glistened with warmth. "It's stiff and crass."

Ciri threw herself at her mother, tears of elation flowing freely. Yennefer held her daughter, stroking her hair in a motion that Geralt hoped would be the last time it was needed; he yearned for the normalcy that he dared to believe was now returning. "Hush, no more crying now," she admonished lovingly, "No more tears, dearest one. No more of this. I'm sorry for all I've put you through, but no more now. It's all over now. I promise."

Geralt had never loved and admired his wife as much as he did in that moment. She was the strongest, most beautiful, plainly the best person he knew.

"Will you join us for some wine and cheese, Yen?" He knew the answer before she even said it.

"Only if you don't try to force a fork on me."


	22. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Geralt came into the house to see Yennefer in a highly uncharacteristic state: She was covered in dirt.

"New look?"

"New spell. Didn't work so well."

He felt a tinge of nerves. "Be careful, Yen."

"Don't worry, Geralt. I always take the proper precautions. What do you take me for?"

"Alright, but just… Be careful."

"Do not make me repeat myself, please," she retorted with half a smile and a slight twinkle in her eye – a twinkle that signified she had some other idea brewing.

"Something else on your mind?"

"Hmm, yes. Being that I have dirt all over me, including in places where I probably can't reach, I believe I may need some help getting clean."

He felt a familiar stirring in his trousers. "Is that so?"

She handed him a cloth that was procured with suspicious quickness. "It is, Witcher," she purred in a voice that fueled him with desire. "I need you to take me to the bath, lather me with soap, and run this cloth all over me. Every inch of my body. Ev-"

He captured her lips, unable to hold back his passion for her any longer. He picked her up and carried her into their room, ready to clean her in every single way he knew how, including in ways that had nothing to do with a cloth.

He was going to indulge her in their single-most favorite activity in life.

Because the privilege of being able to make love to his wife – it was his paradise.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** Yes, that final line was super cheesy, but an anonymous armadillo ;) told me that my readers deserve cheese after a grueling fic like this _– _so there you have it!_


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